Rise of Empire (The Riyria Revelations #3-4)

“It’s only a few miles from where you grew up.”


Hadrian shrugged. “Folks in Hintindar never talked about it much. There are a few ghost stories and rumors of goblins and ghouls that roam the woods, that kind of thing.”

“Nothing about what it was?”

“There was a children’s rhyme I remember, something like,

Ancient stones upon the Lee,

dusts of memories gone we see.

Once the center, once the all,

lost forever, fall the wall.”



“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hadrian shrugged again. “We used to sing it when playing Fall-the-Wall—it’s a kids’ game.”

“I see,” Royce lied.

“Whatever it used to be, I don’t like it,” Arista declared.

Royce nodded. “It almost makes me look forward to Ratibor—almost.”





CHAPTER 10





REWARDS





The midday bell rang and Amilia stopped, uncertain of which way to go. As a kitchen servant, she was unfamiliar with areas reserved for nobles. Only on rare occasions had she filled in for sick chambermaids by servicing bedrooms on the third floor. She had worked as fast as possible to finish before the guests returned. Working with a noble present was a nightmare. They usually ignored her, but she was terrified of drawing attention. Invisibility was her best defense and it was easy to remain unseen in the steam and bustle of the scullery. In the open corridors, anyone could notice her.

This time she had no choice. Saldur had ordered her to his office. A soldier had found her on the way to breakfast and told her to report to His Grace at the midday bell. She lost her appetite and spent the rest of the morning speculating on what horrible fate awaited her.

The bell rang for the second time and Amilia began to panic. She had visited the regent’s office only once, and since she had been under armed escort at the time, the route had been the last thing on her mind. She remembered going upstairs, but didn’t recall the number of flights.

Oh, why didn’t I leave earlier?

She passed the great hall, filled with long tables set with familiar plates and shining goblets, which she had washed each day—old companions all. They were friends of a simpler time, when the world had made sense. Back then she had woken each morning knowing every day would be as the one before. Now each day was filled with the fear of being discovered a failure.

On the far side of the hall, men entered, dressed in embroidered clothing rich in colors—nobles. They took seats, talking loudly, laughing, rocking back in chairs, and shouting for stewards to bring wine. She held the door for Bastion, who carried a tray of steaming food. He smiled gratefully at her as he rushed by, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

“How do I get to the regent’s office?” she whispered.

Bastion did not pause as he hurried past, but called back, “Go around the reception hall, through the throne room.”

“Then what?”

“Just ask the clerk.”

She headed down the corridor and around the curved wall of the grand stair toward the palace entrance. Workers propped the front doors open, granting entry to three stories of daylight, which revealed the cloud of dust they were building. Sweat-oiled men hauled in timber, mortar, and stone. Teams cut wood and marble. Workers scrambled up and down willowy ladders while pulleys hoisted buckets to scaffold-perched masons. All of them were working hard to reshape visitors’ first impressions. She noticed with amazement that a wall had been moved and the ceiling was higher than the last time she had been here. The entrance was now more expansive and impressive than the darkened chamber it once had been.

“Excuse me?” a voice called. A thin man stood in the open doorway to the courtyard. He hesitated on the steps, dodging the passing workers. “May I enter?” He coughed, waving a handkerchief before his face.

Amilia looked at him and shrugged. “Why not? Everyone else is.”

He took several tentative steps, glancing up fearfully, his arms partially raised as if to ward off a blow. A thin, brittle-looking man wearing a powdered wig, a brilliant yellow tunic, and striped orange britches, he stood taller than Amilia.

“Good day to you, my lady,” he greeted her with a bow as soon as he had cleared the activity. “My name is Nimbus of Vernes and I have come to offer my services.”

“Oh,” she said with a blank stare. “I don’t think—”

“Oh please, I beg of you, hear me out. I am a courtier formerly of King Fredrick and Queen Josephine of Galeannon. I am well versed in all courtly protocol, procedures, and correspondence. Prior to that, I was chamberlain to Duke Ibsen of Vernes, so I am capable of managing—” He paused. “Are you all right?”

Amilia swallowed. “I’m just in a hurry. I’m on my way to a very important meeting with the regent.”

“Please forgive me, then. It is just that—well, I have—” He slouched his shoulders and sighed. “I am embarrassed to say that I am a refugee of the Nationalists’ invasion and have nothing more than the clothes on my back and what little I have in this satchel. I have walked my way here and … I am a bit hungry. I was hoping I could find employment at the palace court. I am not suited for anything else,” he said, dusting his shoulders clear of the snowy debris that drifted down from the scaffolds.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not—” She stopped when she saw his lip tremble. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“Quite some time, I am afraid. I have actually lost track.”

“Listen,” she told him. “I can get you something to eat, but you have to wait until after my meeting.”

She thought he would cry then as he bit his lip and nodded several times, saying, “Thank you ever so much, my lady.”

“Wait here. I’ll be back soon … I hope.”

She headed off, dodging the lathered men in leather aprons, and slipped past three others in robes, holding measuring sticks like staffs and arguing over lines on huge parchments spread across a worktable.

The throne room, which also showed signs of renovation, was nearly finished and only a few towers of scaffolding remained. The marble floor glistened with a luster, as did the mammoth pillars that held up the domed ceiling. Near the interior wall rose the dais, upon which stood the golden imperial throne, sculpted in the shape of a giant bird of prey. The wings spread into a vast circle of splayed feathers, which formed the chair’s back. She passed through the arcade behind it to the administration offices.

“What do you want?” the clerk asked Amilia. She had never liked him. His face looked like a rodent’s, with small eyes, large front teeth, and a brief smattering of black hair on a pale, balding head. The little man sat behind a formidable desk, his fingers dyed black from ink.

“I’m here to see Regent Saldur,” she replied. “He sent for me.”